


We Are Who We Are

by fiveainley_ohmy



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Supernatural, Torchwood
Genre: Bisexual Dean, Coming Out, Crossover, Dean loves Castiel but won't admit it, Jack loves Ianto but doesn't know it, M/M, Owen is a dillweed but we love him, Sam loves dinosaurs, Tosh is perfection, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2018-02-18 05:18:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2336621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiveainley_ohmy/pseuds/fiveainley_ohmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchesters hop the pond to investigate the dead being brought back to life and collaborate with Jack Harkness and the Torchwood team. Meanwhile, Jack notices the connection between Dean and Castiel and decides to help Dean deal with his denial.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just American Boys

**Author's Note:**

> *Only a working title for now; may change.

Dean Winchester nervously clutched the arms of his claustrophobic airplane seat with sweaty palms. _Fuckin_ _g_ _hate these things_ , he thought to himself. "Why are we doin' this again?" Dean grumbled to his brother, who was sitting beside him.

Sam barely looked up from his newspaper. "Thirty reports of deceased individuals coming back to life within one week?"

"So?" said Dean, shifting uncomfortably. "People think they see Elvis everywhere, and no one's raising a stink about that."

"In one week?" Sam repeated.

Dean sighed and tried to relax, force his heart to quit beating so damn hard. "I'm gonna kill Bobby for this. Isn't there some sort of-I don't know, British division that's supposed to handle stuff like this?"

* * *

"Alright, team," said Captain Jack Harkness, turning to face his crew. "As I'm sure you've seen all over the news-the dead are rising."

"Zombies?" asked Owen. "Are you sure that's our division?"

"Someone's been watching _Sherlock_ ," Ianto muttered, making Gwen and Tosh giggle.

Jack ignored them. "If it's weird or unexplained-yes. It's our division."

"Do you think it's like the Resurrection Gauntlet, Jack?" Gwen asked.

"I don't know," said the American, shaking his head. "It could be anything. So, Ianto, I want you and Tosh to investigate any unusual energy spikes from the Rift. Owen, see if you can dig up any medical reports or death certificates on the risen. There might be a correlation between them, something tying them together. Gwen, you and me are gonna do some detective work in the field."

* * *

After hours in customs and baggage claim (it took awhile to collect their guns and hunting gear, but eventually their fake FBI badges and a reaffirmation call to Bobby convinced the airliner company to let them take their things), Dean was in a bad mood. He had bad jet lag and was exhausted. As soon as they checked into their dinky motel, Dean crashed.

Which made him all the more irritable when his brother woke him up only several hours later. "Dammit, Sam!" Dean growled. "The hell are you thinking? It's freakin' three am!"

"No, it's eight," said Sam, opening the curtains to reveal a bright blue morning outside the window. "Time zone change, remember?"

Dean muttered something unintelligible and rolled out of bed. "They better have coffee in this country. I ain't drinking fuckin' tea for breakfast."

* * *

After a hearty meal (and a good strong cup of coffee), Dean was in a better mood. Sam was checking out a copy of the local morning paper for Cardiff. “According to this, Mrs. Eliza Moffat, _ex_ -widow, was reunited with her long lost husband, Thomas, thought to have died of cancer. So, I'll dig up some more leads while you go check out this couple. Okay?”

“Oh, sure, mate, oh, by the by, 'ow you like me accent?” said Dean, in a sudden mangled imitation of a British dialect.

Sam stared at him blankly. “Please tell me that was a joke.”

Dean frowned. “No,” he said in his natural American voice. “It was British, man. Gotta blend in with the locals.”

“Not like that, you won't,” said Sam, shaking his head. “All that'll do is offend someone and get you slapped in the face. Just be you. I'm sure these people have encountered Americans before.”

* * *

“Oh, another one!” said the sixty-something year old lady, wrinkles creasing her soft, aged face as she smiled when Dean introduced himself, sans bad accent (“Morning. Agent Gregg Allman, FBI.”). “Thought you lot wanted to break free of this country. Now it seems like you're movin' back in.”

“Er, yeah,” coughed Dean. “May I come in?”

“Of course, dear,” said Mrs. Moffat, opening the door to let Dean inside. “FBI, did you say? I didn't know they worked outside of America.”

“Well, uh, we're temporarily working with...Scotland Yard on a matter of international importance,” Dean improvised. He'd read a couple of Sherlock Holmes short stories back in the day (he and Watson were definitely gay), and he hoped that Scotland Yard was still a thing.

“Oh. Well, I'll certainly be glad to answer all of your questions, Agent, but I'm afraid I already have a guest.”

“Uh...really?” asked Dean in surprise. “There's already an agent here?” Uh oh. Another hunter? Or worse, a real Scotland Yard...crap, what did they call themselves? Coppers?

“Mrs. Moffat?” Dean heard another American voice as a man walked in from the living room. “We weren't quite done...oh, hello, Agent,” he said, catching sight of Dean. “Good to see you again. It's alright, I've got this house covered. Why don't you wait outside and I'll give you a ride back to the station.” The man gave Dean a winning smile.

Mrs. Moffat looked confused. “Captain Harkness? You know Mr. Allman?”

Dean cleared his throat. “Er...yes. Hello...Captain,” he added stiffly, trying to shake the man's hand as if they were familiar already. To be honest, though, Dean found the Captain intimidating. He was a tiny bit shorter than Dean, but came off as a giant. He had dark brown, almost black, hair and light blue eyes, and a smile that would put a toothpaste ad to shame. Dude was built too. Wide shoulders, sturdy limbs, the whole set. Dean couldn't tell because Harkness was wearing a long, oversized military coat, but he could guess that the guy had muscles.

But the weirdest thing about him was his age. From first glance, Dean would've said he was maybe forty. But he had a certain, effervescent, youthfulness to his manner, like he was some overgrown teen. But then there was something in his crystalline irises...something Dean couldn't quite place. But it was the same kind of thing Dean saw when he looked into Castiel's eyes: something ancient. Something older than time itself.

Dean realized he was staring and let go of the hand. Captain Too-Much gave him another megawatt grin.

“I thought you said your people were working with Scotland Yard, not Torchwood,” said Mrs. Moffat.

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but Harkness cut in. “Ah, well, he's been given instructions not give away that information unless absolutely necessary. Good work, Agent,” he added to Dean. “Listen, it's getting late. We'd better head back to the office, but we'll call you if we need any more information. Alrighty?”

The Captain used that biohazard smile on the older woman, which made her visibly blush. “Yes, of course, Captain. Anything you need.”

“Thank you.” With a nod toward the door, Harkness grabbed Dean's arm and urged him out of the house.


	2. Torchwood and the Winchesters

The Captain dropped his friendly act as soon as he and Dean were out the door. “Alright,” he said. “Who are you?”

“Who am I? Who the hell are you?” Dean countered.

“Captain Jack Harkness. Torchwood,” he said.

“That supposed to impress me or something?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Right, and like you're actually a Fed. Look, this is our business. Just try and stay out of the way, alright?”

“Your business. Right. And how's the investigation going so far?” Dean challenged.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “You're no average civvie. Who are you? What do you know?”

“Peter Venkman,” lied Dean. “And this shit is my job.”

“Does it make you feel good, Mr. Ghostbuster?” Jack asked sarcastically.

Dean pursed his lips.

Jack took the opportunity to steal Dean's wallet from his breast pocket. He flipped it open. “Fake badge, fake ID, and fake aliases. You're no civvie, but you're not a professional either.”

“Oh, and you are?” said Dean, snatching his wallet back from the Captain.

Jack grinned. “Son, I've been sleuthing the scientifically impossible since before you could walk. I wrote the damn book.”

Dean didn't like jokers. He scowled at Jack. “Look, man. I'm trying to figure out why freakin' dead people are walking around Cardiff, before they start endangering people's lives. I dealt with a thing like this in America, and it didn't end well.”

“We got it covered,” said Jack dismissively. He reached into his pocket and handed Dean a small piece of paper-a coupon. “It's a great place for pizza. Try the deep dish. And try to stay out of the big boys' way.”

He mockingly saluted Dean, then turned on his heel, climbed into a black van parked a little way down the street, and drove away.

“What a dick,” muttered Dean.

* * *

Dean stomped in, throwing his suit jacket on the bed. That Harkness guy had pissed him off. "You find any more leads?"

"A couple," replied Sam, closing his laptop, on which he'd been doing research for the case. "Apparently the newest Lazarus in a town is a nighttime security guard at Clemency Steel Workings named Mitchell Jackson."

"Sounds like a thriller," said Dean. Then he paused.

Sam shook his head and looked at him questioningly.

"Y'know...'Thriller'? Mitchell Jackson? Like Michael?" Dean sporadically jerked his head to the right while holding out his arms zombie-style.

Sam stared at him dubiously.

Dean put his arms down. "Okay. So...let's go."

* * *

Guns out, they split up and stalked the perimeter of the facility, eyes out for anyone undead.

Dean hadn't seen anything yet, which made him very suspicious. He came across a door where he heard running water, the first sign of life he'd seen all night. He looked around, then slowly pushed the door open and snuck inside.

It was a small locker room, with several rows of lockers and white tiled floor. The noise was coming from the showers in the back, which was putting off small wisps of steam. Well, at least they knew why their presence hadn't been noticed yet.

Dean spotted a set of clothes lying on a bench nearby. A guard's uniform by the look of it. There was a jacket hanging on a coat hook above. Dean checked the name stitched on the pocket. "Hello, Mitchell," he muttered.

Well, this was puzzling. Zombies didn't normally work night shifts and take hot showers. Maybe this guy checked out? Dean was confused.

Suddenly, there was a click of a gun behind him. "Spying on guys in the shower?" said a voice behind him quietly.

Dean slowly turned around.

Jack was standing there. "That's usually my job. Hello, Agent." He put his gun down, nodding his head toward the door.

Dean swallowed and silently followed him out.

Once outside, Jack grabbed him by the shoulder, roughly. "I thought I told you-this is our gig."

"You keep saying 'our' and 'we', but I only see you," said Dean challengingly. It hadn't taken long for Harkness to get his hackles up.

Suddenly, Dean heard something. A tiny voice, like out of a headset, which Dean realized Jack was wearing in his left ear. _Jack? What's going on? Where are you?_

"Just dealing with a small annoyance, Ianto," Jack replied, bringing his finger to the device. "Don't worry about it." Then he crossed his arms and looked at Dean. "There's five of us, to answer your question. Now, is it just you? Or do you have a partner?"

Dean scowled. "No. Just me."

 _Jack?_ The headset went off again, this time a woman's voice. _It's Tosh. Ianto and I found some strange man wandering around the compound._

 _Dammit, Sam,_ thought Dean angrily.

Jack looked at the hunter expectantly. "Friend of yours?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Brother, actually."

Jack shook his head. "So this time you brought reinforcements? Man, Venkman, you don't give up, do you?"

"Look, 'man'. I'm trying to do my job here," Dean began.

"Not needed. We can take it from here," said Jack. "Go home, Peter. And take your partner with you."

All of a sudden, there was a loud crash. The door to the locker room flew off of its hinges and across the courtyard. A man, sloppily dressed in workman's clothes came stumbling out of the small building, bumbling about, as if drunk. He locked eyes with the two men and started for them, making low, gutteral noises in his throat.

Jack and Dean, in almost synchronized movements, whipped out their guns and shot at the beast. But the man didn't stop.

"Bullets won't kill them!" Jack shouted.

"Yeah, but I bet they'd slow 'em down!" Dean lowered his aim slightly and shot the monster in each of its kneecaps. It went down like a stone.

Jack looked at him. "Good thinking. What now?"

"This." Dean pulled out his knife, walked over to the man, thrashing about on the ground, and sliced its head off in one, neat motion. The body fell limp. Dean picked up the head by its mangled hair. The head was still alive, growling and snarling at Dean like a rabid dog.

Jack pulled a plastic bag out of his long coat. "Always prepared," he said, as he bagged up the severed head. "I'll get my team to pick up the rest of the remains. We'll analyze them back at our headquarters." He looked at Dean with steady blue eyes. "Thank you."

Dean nodded. "You're welcome."

Jack put his finger to his ear again. "Ianto. That man you found. Let him go. He's was just someone who wandered in here...okay. Thanks." He then looked at Dean. "Find your buddy. Hit the road...I'm grateful."

* * *

Sam was waiting outside the compound when Dean came out. "Hey. Who were those people?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. "I have no idea, dude. Let's go."

* * *

When they opened the door to their motel room, Jack Harkness was sitting in the armchair, flipping through Sam and Dean's fake IDs by lamplight.

The brothers didn't know what to say. Dean opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

“Gregg Allman, eh?” said Jack nonchalantly. “Didn't get to tell you-I'm a big fan. And this is Dwayne Allman, I take it?" he asked, looking at Sam. "You're looking good, for a dead man.” He regarded them with cold blue eyes.

Dean instinctively reached for his gun, but Jack stood, his hands up in surrender. “I'm not here to fight, boys. I'm just here to talk. Please.” The blue eyes changed to magically soulful, which made Dean pull his hand away from the holster. For some reason, he trusted this Harkness guy. Even if he was a dick.

Dean nodded. “Alright.”

“Wha-? Dean!” Sam sputtered.

“No, Sam, he's okay.” Dean looked at Jack. “Alright, Harkness. What do you want?”

Jack smiled. “Well, boys, it's like this. Our paths have been crossing ever since this whole mini zombie apocalypse began, your team tripping over my team and vice versa. Working separately has gotten neither of us anywhere. But what's that old saying from our country? 'United we stand, divided we fall'?" Jack shrugged. "I think we should work together. Torchwood and..." Jack gave the Winchesters a sideways look, taking in their flannel shirts, ratty jeans, boots, and five o'clock shadows. "Farmboys?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Winchester. Dean Winchester. And this is my brother, Sam." Dean grudgingly put his hand out to shake.

"Good to meet you," said Jack, giving each boy a winning smile. "Whaddya say-partners?"

Dean looked at Sam. Sam shrugged. "Can we trust him?"

Dean turned back to Jack. "Yeah. I guess we can."

Jack grinned. "Welcome aboard, Winchesters."


	3. All The Best Cowboys Have Boyfriends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-binaries, feel free to correct my, or rather, "Jack's", explanations of non-binaryism. Did not mean to offend anyone. Sorry if I did.

"Sam, Dean, welcome home," said Jack, leading the hunters inside. He'd brought them to an unassuming, commonplace travel agency which turned out to be a cover for Torchwood Three's headquarters.

Dean marveled at the magnitude of the underground layer. It was obvious that it had been converted from an old subway station, but it was still freaking huge. Dean heard a loud squawk and a flap of wings overhead and looked up. "No way," he said.

"Is that a _pterodactyl_?" added Sam in awe.

"Pteranodon, actually," Jack corrected. "We call her Myfanwy, after the Welsh goddess."

"But dinosaurs are extinct. You couldn't possibly have one, living and breathing in here!" Sam said.

"Well we can't exactly have flying it around England, can we?" Jack grinned. "Boys, there's one you gotta know about Cardiff: it's weird. It sits on top of a rift in space and time. Debris from every aspect of the universe floats in though here. It's our job to manage it."

"Space? So...aliens?" Dean asked.

"We've had a few," nodded Jack.

Dean and Sam looked at each other. They'd dealt with demons, poltergeists, vampires, werewolves, tulpas, zombies, and even Satan himself. But aliens were something new they had to wrap their heads around.

It couldn't all possibly fit underneath, Dean told himself. "How do you fit all this stuff down here?" he asked. "What, is it bigger on the inside or something?"

Jack suddenly laughed. "What'd I say?" Dean asked.

"Nothing," said Jack, casting a far off look at a large jar sitting on a table nearby. It was filled with bubbly liquid, and floating inside it was unmistakably a human hand-at least, Dean _thought_ it was human, but who knew?

Jack turned back to the Winchesters. "Anyway, time you boys met the team. That girl over there at the computer is Toshiko. She's a whiz with all things science."

Tosh, the pretty Asian-British woman, blushed. "Not that great," she said, smiling shyly.

"Don't be so modest," said Jack. "Tosh maintains all Rift activity. If something's coming, she knows."

"Incidentally, I haven't gotten anything so far," said Tosh. "The zombies don't appear to be influenced by the Rift."

"Could be an invasion, then," Jack surmised. "Or some sort of toxin. In any event, keep checking into it." Tosh nodded and got back to work. "Down there," said Jack, continuing the grand tour as he directed the Winchesters' attention to the downstairs alcove where there was a bunch of medical equipment, manned by a scrappy looking fellow in a white lab coat, "is our chief medical officer, Owen Harper."

" _Doctor_ Owen Harper," the scrappy guy corrected.

Jack rolled his eyes. "I said medical officer, didn't I? Got that toxicology report yet?"

"Not quite done with my analysis yet," said Owen, drawing back the white tarp on the table to reveal the re-dead remains of Mitchell Jackson. "But as far as I can tell, there's nothing in this bloke's system that could have Lazarized his arse."

"Thanks," said Jack, sounding disgruntled. "Okay, and over there in the office is Gwen Cooper, my second in command. She's also our liaison with the local police."

"She's like our Jody," Sam murmured to Dean.

"And this handsome suit bringing us coffee," said Jack as a youngish man in an impeccable suit and a dark red shirt underneath toting a tray full of mugs approached them, "is Ianto Jones."

"Help yourselves," said Ianto, as the Winchesters each took a mug. Dean was grateful.

"Thanks, hot stuff," said Jack, sipping his coffee.

"Sorry sir, were you referring to me or the coffee?" asked Ianto, with a near invisible smirk.

"Both. So, boys. This is Torchwood. Dealing with the weird and unexplained," said Jack. "What do you think?"

Dean smiled coyly. "I think we're gonna be right at home here."

"Jack," called Gwen. "Police scanner just went off. There's been another sighting in the parking lot of Holloway Shopping Center. Except there are more of them this time, not just one."

"That's our cue," said Jack, immediately leaping into action. "Winchesters, you coming?"

"Hell yeah," replied Dean. "Come on, Sammy."

* * *

Dean hated to admit it, but he was kind of impressed by the Torchwood team's sleek black van. It was very Mission Impossible. Of course, it in no way measured up to his Baby, who had had to stay behind in America. Dean missed her. "Venkman," called Jack, climbing into the front seat. "You're up here with me. Samsquatch can sit in the back."

Dean strode around to the other side of the van and climbed into the passenger seat. "You know my name now, you know. You don't have to keep calling me Venkman."

Jack turned and looked straight into Dean's eyes. "Then what can I call you?...Freckles?"

"Uh..." Suddenly, Dean couldn't speak. He was caught off guard by the intensity of Jack's blue eyes. "You can call me Dean," he finally managed to say.

Jack smiled. "Alright, Dean. I'm Jack. Pleasure to meet you."

Did...did that guy just freaking  _wink_  at him?! Dean laughed nervously and turned to the front.

"Everybody settled back there?" Jack called to Sam and the rest of his team sitting in the back of the van. "Alright. Here we go."

The van started up and began rolling down the street. "So, uh..." said Dean, shifting uncomfortably. "Ever encountered zombies before?"

"Mostly just aliens," said Jack, causing the van to pitch to the right as he swerved to miss a mini-van. He was quite the sporadic driver. Dean would have never trusted this guy with his Baby. "The occasional rogue time traveler, too. My ex..." Jack winced.

"She hot?" Dean asked, trying to make conversation.

Jack laughed, clear and delightful. "Not a she, pal. But yes, he was. Very. Tried to kill me, but...talented. If you know what I mean."

"Oh, uh...so...you swing  _that_ way," said Dean. "That's cool. I don't judge, man."

"I swing both ways, I guess," said Jack. "If you want to put it simply. But in more specific terms, I swing in all directions."

"Uh...I thought there were only two ways to swing," said Dean confusedly.

"Well, there's guys and girls," Jack explained. "Then there's people who don't identify as either one, or maybe both. And then of course..." Jack turned to Dean to give him a evil grin. "Off worlders."

Dean choked. "What, aliens? You're telling me you've fucked  _aliens_?" Dean exclaimed.

Jack laughed again. He had a great laugh. "It's a big universe, my friend."

Dean's mind was blown. "So...are you and James Bond back there? Ya know..."

"Well...sort of. We...on the side. You know? I mean, don't get me wrong, Ianto means the world to me, but we...I just..." Jack sighed. "It's complicated. My life."

Dean nodded. "It get it." He thought of Lisa, and Cassie, and even his first girlfriend in high school, Amanda. All the ones he'd loved who he'd had to leave behind, who he'd had to hurt, because of the life he led. He guessed Harkness couldn't let anyone get close to him either, because he might die at any time. Or worse, he might get them killed.

The two men rode in silence the rest of the way.

* * *

When they arrived at the shopping center, the parking lot was deserted. "What the hell, Gwen?" Jack asked. "You said this place was teeming with the undead."

"Well it was supposed to be..." said the Welsh policewoman, looking confused.

Sam pulled out his EMF reader. "Whoa," said Jack appreciatively. "If you're Peter, he must be Egon."

"Dean, I'm getting something," said Sam. "Uh-oh. Incoming."

As if on cue, the hoards burst from the glass front doors and windows of the mall, groaning and stumbling. "Whoa!" Dean yelled.

Owen immediately started shooting. "Argh, it's not bloody working!" he said, smacking the butt off his gun in frustration.

"Cause they're already dead," Jack shouted. "It's no use."

"You have to destroy the bodies!" Sam exclaimed. "Decapitation, burning, anything!"

"The laser guns!" Tosh gasped, jumping into the truck.

"Well, that's great, Toshiko, but we only have two of those," said Jack as the technician came out carrying two cannons. "And there's like eighty of those creeps!"

"Here, use these." Sam handed them hunter blades out of his knapsack.

"Huh," said Ianto, dangling the knife by the tip of the steel. "Kind of low tech."

"Doesn't matter," said Dean, grabbing one of the laser guns. "It's what we have, and those goons are comin' up fast-whoa, this thing is light weight! I need me one of these."

"Toldja our Tosh was the best." Jack grinned at the Asian lady, who blushed happily. "Okay, let's kick some ass!"

"Now you're speakin' my language." Dean leapt out from behind the truck and fired. He dragged the green beam emitting from the weapon in his hand across the neck of one and cleanly sliced off its head. " _Yeah_!"

"Havin' fun, Freckles?" Jack called, swiping at one with the blade. He wasn't too bad at it.

"Hell yeah, I am! I need me one of-yaaaaah!" When Dean had turned to address the Captain, one of the zombies had grabbed him from behind, wrapping its arms around his neck.

Dean had the misfortune of having the zombie's armpit right near his face. "Oh, gross, dude! Zombie B.O.!" He frantically tried to wriggle out of its grasp. He didn't know if this was the biting kind, but he sure as hell didn't want to find out!

"Dean!" called Sam, rushing to help his brother. But he didn't have to. The zombie suddenly fell limp and slid off of Dean's back. Dean whirled around.

The zombie's body lay on the ground, its head detached from its body. A man with dark hair and blue eyes, in a trenchcoat over a plain business suit and crooked blue necktie, was standing over it, clenching a messy knife in his fist. The man looked up. "Hello, Dean," he said in an impossibly gruff, yet soothing, voice.

"Cas!" Dean hugged him. "Ya son of a bitch!"

"I am the son of God, Dean. I am not the offspring of a female dog," said the angel, hugging Dean back nonetheless.

"Yeah, yeah, how are ya, man?" Dean asked.

"Er, yeah, hate to break up the bromance moment, but if you turtledoves haven't noticed,  _THERE'S A FUCKING ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE GOING ON_ _!_ " screamed Owen, gutting one of the creatures. "So if you could save the flirting for later, I'd really appreciate it!"

"Oh. Yes. Allow me." Castiel's eyes glowed bright purple-white.

"Everyone! Shield your eyes!" Dean called, looking away.

Sam and the Torchwood guys averted their gaze too, as Castiel channeled his grace and sent out a psionic blast that knocked out every zombie.

Jack looked up in shock. "Holy hell! What was that? Who is he?"

"Uh, this is Castiel," said Dean. "He's...sort of an angel."

"I'll say. This handsome fella just answered all my prayers." Jack's face slid into flirt-mode in record time as he swaggered over to shake the angel's hand. "Captain Jack Harkness, pleased to meet you."

"My name is Castiel," the angel blinked.

"Lovely name, Castiel," said Jack smoothly.

"Alright, enough," said Dean, stepping between them.

"So, the zombies are dead? Er, I mean, re-dead?" Toshiko asked, coming over to them.

Castiel paused for a moment, then said, "I can't tell. They were already dead when I arrived. They may rise again."

"Then we better burn these bodies while they're still dormant," said Sam. "I have matches. Do you guys happen to have any flammable liquids? Gasoline, laundry detergent?"

"We should have something in the van. Gwen, Tosh, you two go have a look inside. We'll gather up the bodies into a convenient pile," said Jack. "Come on, guys."

Owen grumbled about having to drag dead bodies around, but the six men got to work. There was something morbid about the whole ordeal, piling up corpses, but soon they were all in a neat mass. Then, the girls sloshed gasoline over the bodies, and Sam lit them on fire. They all watched the blaze till it died down to a mound of ashes, which would be picked up by the wind and blown away.

"That's it, then," said Toshiko.

"At least until the next incursion," said Jack darkly.


	4. It's A Sausage Fest Around Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahaha. Hey guys. Been a while, eh? (Oops.) Well, better late than never, right? Here, have some pr0n to make up for it.

Gwen, Owen, and Tosh went home after the zombie attack. Jack, Ianto, the Winchester brothers, and Castiel returned to Torchwood HQ.

Jack slapped some papers on the desk before the hunters. "Owen's analysis. The bodies' cells are definitely dead."

"Maybe we're dealing with possessed corpses," Sam suggested.

"No," said Castiel, shaking his head. "There were no souls inhabiting those bodies. I would have sensed it."

"So maybe it's animation - witchcraft," Dean reasoned.

Ianto was looking at the hunters in disbelief. "Witches...angels. All this shit really exists?"

"More things in heaven and earth, Ianto baby," said Jack, patting the Welshman on the shoulder. "When you reach my age, nothing surprises you."

Dean laughed. "Yeah, you better start shoppin' for the Geritol, man. What are you, like, 40?"

Jack smirked, winking. "Yeah, Freckles. Something like that." He and Ianto shared a knowing look.

 _Fuck. That winking again_ , Dean thought. His stomach did an alley-oop.

Sam yawned. "Dean, we better call it a night. There might be more zombies tomorrow."

"Right. See you tomorrow, fellas," said Dean, rising from the table. He looked at the man in the trenchcoat. "Cas. You comin'?"

"Yes. I am coming." Cas stood up too. "I'll be by the car." Then he disappeared.

Ianto blinked. "Damn."

"I'll say," Jack said.

"Thank you, guys." Sam said and walked out.

Dean started to follow his brother, but Jack touched his bicep. "So. You and the angel."

"What? Dude, no!" said Dean, aghast.

"Aw, come on," laughed Jack. "The way you two were looking at each other. Very Tonto and Lone Ranger vibe you two had going on there."

"Hey, man, I don't swing that way," laughed Dean nervously. "Look, I-I gotta go. Good night." The elder Winchester let himself out.

Jack sighed and leaned on the table, rubbing his eyes with his heels of his hands. "Zombies. Fucking zombies. I don't know what we're gonna do."

Ianto's hand ran through his hair. "Come on," the Welshman murmured to him, nibbling his ear. "I know how you can relieve some of that tension."

Jack, pulling his hands from his face, smiled slyly at him. "What would I do without you, sexy pants?" He pulled Ianto toward him and gave him a steamy kiss.

* * *

"Dean, I just don't know about these people," Sam was saying in the car. "They're...I dunno, the Men in Black, or something. Their thing is aliens. What do they know about the things that go bump in the night?"

"Hey, they came through for us back there," said Dean. "They got high-tech weaponry that can take these motherfuckers down faster than our knives can."

"Dean, the only reason we beat that hoard is because Cas was there to save our bacon."

"It was no problem, Sam. Although I recall no pigs or pig product being preserved," the angel piped up from the back seat. Sam sighed.

"I trust 'em, Sammy. We can help each other. Our know-how, their resources."

"Yeah, or maybe it's because you've got a thing for Jack."

"Bite me, Sam."

”You’re attracted to that man?” Castiel asked Dean.

”No! Sam’s just being an asshole. Just ignore him.”

Once they got back to the hotel, Sam jumped in the shower before Dean had a chance to. Fine. He could take one in the morning. With a tired groan, he sat down on the edge of his bed and began taking off his boots. “So Cas,” said Dean to the angel that was still there. “How’d you know to come find us?”

”You were praying to me, Dean.”

“What?” said Dean, raising an eyebrow. “No I wasn’t.”

”Perhaps not consciously. But you call out for me a lot when you’re in trouble, even if you don’t know it. I come when I can. The other day when you were on the plane, you were praying for me then too.”

”Uhh...” Dean blushed. “Sorry, man. Don’t mean to be a crybaby.”

”It is not shameful to want help, Dean. Don’t be sorry.”

”Right.” Dean cleared his throat. “Well I’m gonna go to sleep now. And you know how I feel about you starin’ at me when I’m sleeping...”

”Of course,” Cas nodded. “I will go. I want to go see Stonehenge again.”

”Again? You’ve been before?” Dean asked.

”I have seen all the fascinating sights this Earth has to offer, Dean. Even a few you have never heard of.”

”Is that what you do when you’re not with us? Being a celestial tourist?” Dean chuckled, picturing the angel in an ugly Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts, going on bus tours and buying keychains in shitty gift shops.

Cas smiled a bit. “Among other things. Perhaps I will show you some of my favorite sights sometime. Goodnight, Dean.”

With a rustle of invisible wings, Cas disappeared. Dean smiled fondly to himself. Then he flipped off the light, slid under the covers, and quickly drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Someone was kissing Dean’s neck.

Dean sighed, then his eyes popped open.

Dark hair and blue eyes were hovering over his face. “Good morning, Freckles.”

Dean jolted. “Jack! What are you-“

”Oh, like you weren’t thinking about this,” chuckled the Captain, leaning down to suck on Dean’s neck again.

Heart thumping, Dean’s eyes darted over to the other bed.

”Don’t worry. Little brother’s not here to interrupt us,” Jack chuckled, as if he knew what the hunter was thinking.

”D-dude, I’m not gay,” Dean stammered.

”Hmm...” Jack rolled his hips against Dean’s, and the elder Winchester gasped as their erections rubbed together. “I don’t think you’re exactly straight either,” Jack said with a smirk. “Come on, Freckles, just relax...and enjoy the show...”

Jack sat up, still straddling Dean’s hips. He’d shed his long military coat and vest, and his suspenders were hanging at his hips. Grinning at Dean, he teasingly opened a button of his shirt, exposing a bit of his manscaped chest. Dean bit his lip.

Jack grinded his sweet ass against Dean’s hard dick. “Know you want a piece of _this_ , big boy.”

”Fuck,” Dean whispered.

Jack opened the rest of his shirt buttons and pulled the hem out of his pants, then shrugged it off, revealed a perfectly yummy, moderately muscular torso. Dean had been right. The guy was fit. Dean didn’t know many 25 year old guys with a bod this good, much less 40 year olds.

Jack hummed, tipping his head back, running one of his thumbs down his pectoral, then in a tantalizing circular motion around a perky pink nipple. Fuck, if that little bud didn’t make Dean’s mouth water. He wanted to wrap his lips around it, lick over it, suck it, even take it in between his teeth. As if Jack knew what he wanted, he took the bud between his thumb and index finger and squeezed a little, letting out a little desperate moan. “Dean,” he sighed. “Like what you see?” he asked as he rolled that sweet little nipple, torturing it until it turned a lovely shade of cherry red.

”Yeah,” Dean whispered hoarsely, his cock pulsing, trapped in his pants.

Jack grinned. “Good, ‘cause I’ve been thinking about your sweet ass and mouth since I laid eyes on you. You looked so fucking hot in that suit. I would’ve ripped it right off you and fucked you right there if that old woman hadn’t been watching.”

”Oh my God...” Dean was fucking blushing like a virgin. No guy had ever talked this dirty to him—or turned him on this much.

Jack had switched to teasing his other nipple, and was now palming the sizable bulge in the front of his trousers. “I bet you’re such a good little bottom, Dean. But then again, those gorgeous lips look fucking perfect for sucking cock. I can just see them wrapped around my shaft. Would you like that, Dean? Do you wanna suck my cock?”

”Uh...” Dean nodded breathlessly.

Jack smirked. “Good boy.”

He began to unbutton his trousers-

_MRRT! MRRT! MRRT! MRRT! MRRT!_

Dean’s eyes popped open. The alarm was blaring, blinking 7:00 AM at him. Sunshine was peeking through the curtains of the hotel room, and his dick was aching in his pants.

Shit. It had all been a dream. But it had felt so _real_...

”Dean! I’m running out to get breakfast,” Sam called as he headed out the door.

Dean groaned as he flopped over on his back. He fought himself not to grab his dick and have himself a good jerkoff. No way. He could _not_ let himself come to the image of that sexy jerk.

Dean forced himself to get up and took a cold shower. His cock was left wanting, but his pride was still intact.

After a quick breakfast and coffee, Sam and Dean drove back down to Torchwood HQ. When they walked in, it seemed like no one was there.

”Hello?” Dean called out, wandering around. Sam had gone off in a different direction. Dean looked around, then heard a muffled scuffling noise. Then a door opened and out walked...oh Goddamn it.

”Mornin’, Freckles,” said Jack, naked except for what looked like the world’s smallest towel covering his modesty. Water dotted his chest, arms, and legs, and dripped from his hair. “Hope you don’t mind, just got out of the shower.”

”No, uh...no problem,” Dean said, trying his best to act casual. God _damn_ , that man had the body of a Greek god. His dream last night had not done him justice.

Jack grinned. “Like what you see?”

Dean turned blood red. Those Goddamn four words. Just like he’d said in the dream.

”Heh. Yeah, Captain. You’re a fine cut of man steak. But we need to get to business, alright?”

”Of course. Whatever you say.”

Dean turned away and began to walk the way he came. But he froze when he heard a soft plop. Jack’s towel hitting the ground. Then there was innocuous whistling as Jack walked away.

Jack was stark naked. Dean could turn around right now and have a look at that toned, tight ass if he wanted. But dammit, if he did that, then Jack won.

Dean kept walking, not daring to peek back. Goddamn. He needed find a chick to bang soon. It was a sausage fest around here.


End file.
